University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—A Forest,
Enter Arnold supporting Eberhard, L. H.
Arn.
Cheer brother, cheer! 'Tis scarce an arrow's flight
To Stantz, beyond the forest; we have not journey'd
Half a hunter's day. How often have we trod
The mountain's side together, and thought the sun
A niggard of its light!

Eber.
I had a wife then,
And my Antoine to cheer me midst my toil;
I heeded not the blast that rudely smote
My cheek. I knew it reach'd not them, and midst
Its hollow howlings I could hear the lispings
Of my cherub, and the sweet tone of welcome
From her mother. Where are they now? where? where?
The echo in my heart is still; it dares
Not answer. Last night methought, Arnold, that
I stood again beside the little couch
Of my Antoine. She was once more a child;
Her mother at her head was kneeling, whilst
The joy of her full heart found vent in tears.
As o'er the slumberer's cheek the light of peace
Stole from its sunny home in her pure heart.
And as I gazed, methought a deadly asp
Circled her snowy neck, and spread its pois'nous venom
Through her veins., I woke in my fierce agony
And did curse the tears then warm upon my cheek,
For sorrowing at such a death.

Arn.
No more of this,
Or I shall play the woman, and we have need
To wear no hearts to day. We'll shed no tears
But drops of crimson hue, which our true
Swords shall draw!

Eber.
Thine are glorious hopes, Arnold.
Our country must be free, but I shall be
No sharer in her freedom. Mine will be
The freedom of the grave. Oh! my poor child
I thought thy hands would strew fresh flow'rs o'er me,
And thy tears bedew the turf upon my bosom!
But thou wilt wither with me!

Arn.
Put on the man!
Thine's not the only grief in Switzerland
Worth tears: am I no sharer in this sorrow?
Mine eye is tearless!
We should know no grief
That's selfish. How many eyes are sentinel's o'er us,
And can'st thou be a craven? The fates
Of thousands yet unborn are with us now,
The sluggish spirit of the cringing serf
Is most alive to nature's holy voice,
Will he not hug his offspring to his breast,
When whispering gossips anger o'er this tale,
Until the warmth of his affection thaws
The icy channels of his heart? His shade will grow
Too heavy for his arm, and his oppressor's words
Fall grating on his ear, until his thraldom
Poisons his cup and board, and leaves him nothing
But the bitterness of life.

Eber.
Bear with me, brother;
And deem me not unworthy of our land;
But she was all that time had left me;
The only stay that propp'd my sinking age.
I could gaze on her, when my heart was sad,
And far away, with my dead hopes, until
They seem'd to live again in her, but now I stand
Like to some blighted tree, around whose trunk
The creeping ivy stole, gave and to it
The semblance of a verdure; but a rude hand
Hath pluck'd its borrowed life, and left it
Nothing. Lend me thine arm, Arnold.
Her mother (when we meet in heaven) shall not
Reproach me, that her child could find no advocate.

Arn.
'Tis well, 'tis well. How icy is his grasp!
The fountain of his life is freezing up;
The sun is set that warmed it.

[Exit R. H.